Song of the Raven (Daughters of the Prairie 3) - Page 6

“Herbs and flowers. I do not know the white man names. My mother is…a medicine woman.”

“Oh. Well, she likely knows more than I do. But this salve has healed many a wound in its day.” Her gaze rose to his lips. She grabbed a fresh cloth from the basket, wet it, and gently cleansed his face of the sweat and grime that had built up since the attack. She chuckled when she came to his chin. “My, you’re like a child with that purple chin. You do love your berries, don’t you?”

“Just…hungry.”

“Then eat your bread.”

But he couldn’t, not while she was touching him. She picked up the salve and twirled her finger in the small tin.

“Your lips are parched. This will help.” She touched her finger to his mouth and rubbed the salve into his lips.

His skin heated and he hardened instantly. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed her wrist and pressed his lips to her fingers in a soft kiss.

Chapter Two

Ella’s heart thumped as blood rushed through her veins. This was inappropriate behavior. Highly improper. Even Andrew had never taken such a liberty. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to snatch her hand away. The feel of his lips, dry and cracked though they were, on her fingers calloused from homestead work enthralled her. Such a foreign, yet delicious, sensation.

She gasped as he kissed her fingers once more and then pushed her hand away. “I am sorry.”

“I-It’s—” She stopped to catch her breath. “It’s…my fault really. I just thought… Your lips are so chapped. Dry from lack of water, I imagine. I…”

He reached toward her and touched his fingers to her cheek. “Hopa,” he said. “Lila Wiya Waste.”

The harmonious words struck a chord in Ella’s memory. “You said that before. What does it mean?”

“Hopa means beautiful.” His voice was hoarse, raspy. “Lila Wiya Waste means beautiful woman.” He caressed the apple of her cheek with his thumb.

“Oh.” Ella breathed. His hand on her face felt hot. So hot. “That’s just…lovely, Silver Raven.”

“Just…Raven. My friends call me Raven.”

Even as dusk neared, his black eyes still sparkled with a smoldering intensity that disturbed yet pleased Ella. His hypnotic gaze blazed into hers, and she found herself leaning toward him. His mouth was so close to hers. Close enough to…

She jerked away with an almost violent motion. Her skin felt clammy. Prickly. Hot. Her heart throbbed against her breast. A strange flutter settled between her legs. What on earth was happening?

“I-I’m afraid I couldn’t bring you a lantern. If you light it in the darkness, my father, or worse, someone else, might find you. I’m very sorry.”

“I do not mind the dark,” he said. “But I need…”

“What? What do you need?”

“Will you…cleanse my chest? Like you cleansed my face?”

His chest? He had gone quite mad,

obviously. Yet his chest was covered with the same sweat and grime that had covered his face. He was no doubt uncomfortable. And she had made a commitment to care for him. She wanted to care for him, though she didn’t know why.

She dipped the cloth she had used on his face back in the water and rinsed it, and then, hands shaking, brought it to his chest. For the first time since she’d found him in the barn, she allowed herself to gaze at his beautiful form. Bronze skin, hard planes and muscles. His warmth seeped through the moist cloth and onto her hand as she washed him.

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Mmm. Feels…nice.”

Yes, Ella thought. It did feel nice. Too nice. Best to keep talking. “So tell me, Mr. Raven—”

“Just Raven.”

“All right. Raven. How did you learn to speak English so well?”

“My father. And my brother.”

Tags: Helen Hardt Daughters of the Prairie Romance
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